Words for Pictures
by Gixxer Pilot
Summary: Cop!verse AU Halloween fic. If there really is a picture that's worth a thousand words, Pike finds out it's not wise to show Jim Kirk the cold, hard evidence. It's especially unwise when the subject of the picture is one Leonard McCoy.
1. Chapter 1

**Title**: Words for Pictures

**Author**: Gixxer Pilot

**Summary**: Cop!verse AU Halloween fic. If there really are pictures worth a thousand words, Pike finds out it's not wise to show Jim Kirk the cold, hard evidence. It's especially unwise when the subject of the picture is one Leonard McCoy.

**Author's Notes**: I'm wondering if it's wise to admit this, but I actually took time out of my life to watch Priest. I thought it felt a bit like jack-ten off suite in poker: it looked good, but did nothing, which was exactly what I expected from it. But, a few good things did come out of that eighty minutes, and it came in the form of inspiration for the first cop!verse Halloween fic. This is a flash-backy thing, so we're talking the span between 'present time' and 'several years earlier' of about a dozen years. Though it starts out in June, I promise. There's Halloween-y goodness all over in chapters two and three, along with devious!Kirk and an epically cranky McCoy who's ready to kill his partners, both past and present.

**Disclaimer**: If I owned them, do you all really think I'd be writing this as fiction? Hell to the no! But just in case, nothing's mine other than the ideas and the OCs, and I don't make Flanders (diddily) off what I write.

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><p><strong>Chapter 1<strong>

When McCoy volunteered him into an afternoon of indentured servitude, Jim Kirk thought he'd spend it figuring out a new and ingenious way of making his partner's life positively miserable as payback. Really, there was a man law against what Bones had done. Interrupting sports was like taking the last beer without asking, not that the latter was a concern with Bones as a best friend. He certainly liked the Pike family and had no trouble whatsoever helping out when Chris needed a couple of extra sets of hands, but why, of all times, must it be during the Stanley Cup Finals?

As the department's anointed hockey nut, Kirk was the one who stayed abreast of news from the NHL, the one who made sure he caught all the big games on TV (he had satellite in his apartment _just_ for NHL Center Ice), and the one who really enjoyed every single aspect of the game. McCoy – well, as much as Jim loved his partner, he also understood Bones couldn't tell the difference between the Habs and a hat trick.

Pike, in his defense, had been apologetic when he'd heard when exactly the deciding game of the series fell. He'd offered Kirk the chance to renege on the offer of help, but Jim believed in keeping his obligations. He and Chris came up with a fair compromise – Jim would come over early to do his part, which would, in turn, leave him free for the evening to watch the game. That left McCoy to show up whenever he was done doing…whatever the hell he did on his days off.

Kirk was understandably subdued while he worked to clean the garage in preparation for Ethan's high school graduation party. Once the garage floor was clear of various bits of automotive parts and tools, the pair wrestled the six folding tables together into devices that might actually be able to bear weight. Lynn did her part and brought the decorations for the festivities – tablecloths, confetti, napkins, plates, plastic flatware, all in Ethan's school colors of maroon and gold – which overflowed from the boxes she kept adding to the collection on the table.

Jim internalized a sigh and reached into the cooler Chris brought out for a beer. Popping the top, he stuck one lazy hand into the box closest to him and pulled out the first thing he touched. Ethan's high school varsity letter lay neatly in a frame, surrounded by all the sports and activities in which he'd earned varsity honors. Kirk smiled when he saw the captain's star next to the crossed hockey sticks. Jim set them down on the table and kept digging, pulling out old photos from when the youngest Pike was child, through his tween and teenage years, and finally, his senior class photo.

Draining his beer, Kirk picked up the box and gave it a shake to make sure it was empty. But the scratching sound of something scraping across the bottom of the cardboard caught his attention, and Jim set the box back down. Tossing his empty beer bottle across the garage and into the recycling bin, the patrol cop reached in and dislodged a picture frame from the flap of the box. Upside down, Jim didn't know what to make of the rather dated, antiquated, and beaten up frame at first.

And then he turned it over.

If a picture was worth a thousand words, Jim Kirk was convinced that he'd just stumbled right on to the holy grail of all things Leonard McCoy. He almost didn't believe what his eyes were most certainly telling him. Kirk pinched himself a couple of times just to be sure he wasn't dreaming before he truly let the image sink in.

The photo was probably just as old as the frame, given how much younger McCoy looked in it. Jim inspected his partner's face closely and noticed that almost all of the frown lines at the corners of his mouth and the dusting of crow's feet at his eyes were non-existent. His face was marginally slimmer, and his eyes didn't hold the jaded cynicism Kirk saw on a daily basis. It was odd; even though Jim saw the lighter side of his partner and he knew the man had a helluva sense of humor, it was still strange to look at such a young version of his friend. Hell, Kirk supposed that Bones wasn't much older in the picture than he was.

But it wasn't the youthful face of McCoy that surprised him, nor was it what drove him to silence. No, the picture itself was the most comical thing he'd seen in almost as long as he could remember, and Jim's brain was brought to an utter standstill when he tried to articulate his feelings. Trying and failing to start an appropriate sentence twice, Kirk eventually managed to squeak out, "Oh, my God. Is that _Bones_?"

Chris Pike stopped in mid-stride, spun on one heel and walked toward the incredulous man rooted in front of the table in the middle of the garage. He set the box he was carrying down on one of the adjacent folding chairs and peered over the younger man's shoulders. A chuckle floated from the lieutenant when Pike's sharp eyes registered the framed photo Kirk was clutching in his right hand. Motioning, Chris said, "That wasn't supposed to be in there, but yeah, the one and the only. Bet you never knew he was half vampire."

Kirk threw his head back and laughed, though Pike wasn't sure if it was because of what he said, or because of the picture in the younger man's hands. "My partner is a lot of things, but half vampire is not one of them. Where the hell did this come from, and how did you manage to get him to pose for it?"

"I don't know if it was so much posing, Kirk. I think it was more that Lynn caught him before he could react in a more dignified manner," Pike corrected, smiling fondly as he looked at the picture of his son and his former partner.

"That reminds me to never do anything stupid around your wife. She's deadly with a camera, and this is the proof," Jim snorted out in response. Kirk continued to stare at the image of McCoy and Ethan, the latter dressed up in a black worse-for-wear Wyatt Earp style hat, tattered black vest and distressed high collared western shirt. But the dental accessories gave Kirk pause, and silently, he had to give Ethan kudos for deploying proper, badass-looking fangs from his front K-9 teeth. The accompanying fake blood dripping off the little additions added just an extra little touch of pizazz. "Whose brilliant idea was this?"

"Oh, I don't remember. I think my son was about six or seven there, so I'd imagine that it was his. You know how insistent he gets," Pike replied, reaching into the cooler to grab a beer for himself.

"Yeah, Bones tells me that hasn't changed, though I can't imagine where Ethan got that trait from," Kirk replied while he shot a cocky glance toward his lieutenant.

"If you're talking about my wife, you'd be right."

Jim laughed. "I'm talking about both of you! I'm telling you man, Bones has told me stories!" Kirk insisted.

"Oh, I'm sure he has. The man has enough ammo on me to last a lifetime. Fortunately, tracers work both ways," Pike replied, using a favorite Marine Corps reference that earned a roll of Jim's eyes.

"True that," Kirk answered. "Now, speaking of my partner, what is the deal here?" Jim asked, tapping the glass of the photo with his fingers while he practically bounced in place.

Pike shrugged passively. He knew at the same time that the young cop was practically bursting at the seams to hear the story behind the world's best blackmail photograph, and since Chris did take a little pleasure in embarrassing his former partner, he was more than ready to give it. However, that willingness didn't transcend past the equally strong need to drag out the suspense just a little while longer at Jim's expense. Casually, the lieutenant replied, "That's a long story, Kirk. Knowledge can and will be hazardous to your health if McCoy finds out that I not only showed you the picture, but told you how we got it."

Jim looked back down at the object in his hands. "No way, man. You can't just put a picture like this out here and expect I'm going to leave without hearing the story behind it," he contended, rather more forcefully than he'd intended. Kirk felt a giggle bubbling up in his chest as he memorized every detail of the goldmine he held in his hands. Looking up at his boss, Jim opened his mouth to say something, but closed it again and dropped his gaze.

Quite honestly, the picture of Ethan alone with his getup would have been enough, especially next to an in-uniform McCoy. But clearly, someone in the Pike household took it a couple of miles farther. In the photo, Ethan was standing, just behind Bones' right shoulder. Len was seated on the couch, head back and tilted slightly to the left. Surprise and shock were evident all over his face, given the bulging eyes and flared nostrils as the fangs in Ethan's mouth made contact with the sensitive skin near the juncture of McCoy's neck and collarbone. Kirk didn't know whose idea it was, but he was ready to shake the professor's hand and congratulate them on a job well done.

However, minor details still had to be addressed, like obtaining the story first. Jim plastered the most pathetic expression he could muster all over his face and practically begged, "Come on, Lieu. I need to hear this story, and I'll go on record when I say I don't care how badly Bones murders me. I _have_ to know."

Pike smirked and pulled up one of the chairs, motioning for Jim to do the same. "Sit down, Kirk, and get comfortable. Might as well be sitting when you hear how we got this picture. I'd hate to have to call EMS because you fell over laughing and smashed your head on my garage floor."

Kirk raised a contemplative eyebrow. Oh, this was going to be good.

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><p><strong>Next Up<strong>: Pike tells Jim a whopper of a story, and it even turns out to be true.


	2. Chapter 2

**Author's Notes**: I'm kind of wishing I had something amusing to say here, but alas, my brain is drawing a giant blank. The point of chapter one was really supposed to be a teaser. This is the real meat of the story (well, if you can call this crack fic 'meat' that is). I've had to make some changes to this chapter from the original version to make sure that this fic doesn't get zapped from existence by the site's admins. I would kind of…hate that. So, the song McCoy's happy drunk is singing in the back of the police car is Queen's classic Bohemian Rhapsody, which, for those of you who haven't heard it (seriously? There are people who haven't heard Queen? Blasphemy!), here is the YouTube link: watch?v=jHbCE53s9hQ. (Obviously, you all need to put the 'YouTube' part in there first, lol.)

Additionally, kilala10 over on Livejournal has drawn some brilliant fanart to compliment this story, so the link for it is at the bottom of the chapter. Thank you, my dear! Words cannot describe how amused I am by your talents. Enjoy, everyone! As always, comments are loved but most definitely not required.

**Disclaimer**: I do not own Star Trek, nor do I own Queen's brilliant Bohemian Rhapsody, which is referenced in this chapter. I do this for my own amusement, though not necessarily as a benefit to my sanity.

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><p><strong>Chapter 2<strong>

_Twelve years earlier_

Chris Pike forgot his keys.

And because he was a good partner (read: the new guy thought pranks were _bad_), Len McCoy sighed and agreed to drive them over when he had a spare moment or two. And after the latest casualty of law in his cruiser, Len was under the distinct impression he'd need a break once he brought the happiest streaker in all of Iowa City to jail.

"Fucking Halloween," McCoy muttered as the twenty-something man in the back began to belt out a very loud, very out of tune version of Bohemian Rhapsody. He never understood why the majority of the populous used Halloween as an excuse to act like five year old children. Len was convinced that there was something in the air that made people positively insane. Shaking his head, he brought his right hand up and slapped his palm flat against the barrier dividing the front and back of the car. The cage rattled and then settled while McCoy turned his head slightly and hollered, "Hey! Would you shut up already? Stop defiling Queen!"

"What's wrong with Queen? Oh wait. I'll bet you're one of those country guys," the man laughed back, smirking stupidity while he kept singing.

"Freddie Mercury should be allowed to come back from the dead to slap you for that," Len shot snarkily back. "It's a disgrace."

It was if his words weren't even heard or registered, and his streaker kept right on signing. McCoy grimaced, wondering if he'd remembered to replace the bottle of Ibuprofen he kept stashed in his locker for emergencies just like this one. He took a couple of deep, calming breaths while his latest guest screeched his way through the ballad section of the song. Growling lowly over the terrible "singing", the patrol cop corrected, "There is _nothing_ wrong with Queen. What's wrong is the sound that's coming out of your mouth."

"You," McCoy's latest captive started, pointing one slightly unsteady finger in the patrolman's direction, "Are kind of uptight. Just chillax, man. With music!" Using the mental handcuffs to tap out quarter notes on the plastic seat of the cruiser. He cleared his throat in order to find the appropriate pitch as the song's tempo changed from slow and languid to staccato and serious. Dramatically, he sang the bridge at the top of his lungs while properly alternating voices.

Well, at least he was a happy drunk, though that didn't console Len's abused ears. The horrid sound bounced off the very contained interior of the cruiser, and he knew his blood pressure was rising faster than it ought to have been. Unable to help it, McCoy chimed in, "All right, let's get two things straight. One: you're not signing yourself to freedom, and two: you are damned lucky my partner's off tonight. You're a crime against music, and he'd take exception."

A mischievous expression passed the young, slightly inebriated man happily singing away in the back seat. He raised the volume of his voice (if that was actually possible) while he practically shouted, "LET ME GO! Will not let you go. LET ME GO!"

"Mama Mia let me go," Len muttered to himself while he thought about happy things like butterflies and rainbows. The half-assed attempts at distraction weren't working, and McCoy's hands gripped the steering wheel of the car, knuckles white against the raw, red skin. Finally conceding the need to preserve what was left of his sanity after his very long night, McCoy slammed on the brakes in the middle of the deserted street. The inertia from the sudden stop threw both men forward in their restraints. The cop twisted in his seat while he stuck one finger up against the bars. In a deadly serious voice, he warned, "You try for that high note, and I'm gonna gag you."

The young man's happy face finally fell. Studying the cop for a long few seconds, he finally asked, "God, really? What crawled up your ass and died? Are all cops this boring?"

McCoy didn't dignify the comment with a response; instead, he eased the car none-too-gently over the speed bumps in the station's parking lot. He killed the engine, got out and strolled to the jail's receiving area to snag a couple of pairs of sanitary gloves. McCoy motioned for one of the corrections officers to join him at the back door of the car before he threw the partition open.

"Oh, haaappy Halloween!" corrections officer Marcy Jordan exclaimed as she stuck her head into the car. The blanket that Len used to half-assedly cover his catch earlier slipped from the man's shoulders during the ride over, exposing every bit of the exhibitionist to the jailer. The tall, borderline heavyset, dark-haired woman cocked her head to the side and simply rolled her eyes. "Where'd you find this one, McCoy?"

"Frat party," was the patrol officer's flat, annoyed reply. "Meet Marcus Wilson, the most annoying streaker I've ever met. Genius here was running through the yards of the neighborhood in his birthday suit. By the time I got there, he was up on the roof of a house, singing at the top of his lungs. Hasn't shut up since I put him in cuffs."

"You should be familiar with that last part," she said as she nudged McCoy in the ribs with the point of her elbow. Jordan smirked and gloved up, pulling the purple non-latex coverings on with a dramatic snap. She reached into the cruiser and grabbed an arm, dragging the young man from McCoy's cruiser. His bare feet hit the pavement, and the sandy-haired blonde man shifted from foot to foot as the cold cement permeated the bottoms of his feet. Finally, the pair of law enforcement personnel led him into central booking before they dropped him on the 'waiting to be processed' bench. Jordan handcuffed Wilson to the restraint bar tacked to the bottom of the bench while she peeked up at McCoy.

"Where's Pike tonight?" she asked, straightening to face the cop.

"Off. He's spending the night with his son," McCoy answered with a sigh while he meandered over to the biohazard bin. He chucked the gloves with a curl of his lips before he went straight to the sink to wash his hands.

The jail veteran snapped her fingers. "That's right! It's Ethan's first real Halloween, isn't it? I forgot about that. Haven't seen Chris this excited in a very long time."

"I'm not surprised," McCoy muttered under his breath as he shook off the excess water from his hands and reached for a towel. "The man's got the maturity of his six year old."

"You're too generous, McCoy. I'd say four, but I've known him longer," Jordan snickered while she signed the proper forms, accepting Wilson into the jail from the police. She held the clipboard out to the patrol officer and waited for him to add his signature to the bottom. Furrowing her thin, perfectly manicured dark brows, she asked, "Wait. How long have you been on? I saw you before I came on duty tonight, and what it is it? 1800 now?"

"I'm pulling a double. It's the only way my partner got the entire night off," McCoy answered with very little fanfare.

Jordan's face melted into an expression of adoration, mixed with a little squee of joy the department often heard when someone brought in a lost dog or cat. Despite a no-bullshit, tough as nails exterior from working nearly twenty years in the jail, Marcy was a sucker for a cute face. Apparently, that extended to Pike's new-ish partner, and she made no secrets about it. She laid one hand on his arm and said, "Aww! That's so nice of you."

McCoy did his best to hide the blush creeping up past his collar. He cleared his throat and rolled his eyes. "I didn't do it because I like the guy, Jordan. I did it because now he owes me one," he insisted.

"Whatever, McCoy. Keep telling yourself that," she replied with a smile while she led her newest charge off to the fingerprinting area. Over her shoulder, she waved a little goodbye to the patrol officer while he made his way down the hall. "Have a good night!"

He grunted and reciprocated the wave, picking up the blanket from the ground where it dropped off Wilson's shoulders. After he folded it back up and stowed it in the trunk of the car, McCoy did the appropriate paperwork for the call, cleared himself for his dinner break and drove out of the garage. He never thought paying his partner a visit would wind up serving as his refuge, but it was looking more and more like his only respite from the night's insanity would be found at Casa de Pike. McCoy rolled the cruiser's windows down as far as they would go and allowed the brisk October air to steam through the inside of the car. The fresh, crisp scent was almost rejuvenating, just so long as he didn't look at his watch to know how much time was left on his shift.

McCoy slowed to a slow, careful pace when he entered Chris' neighborhood, mindful of all the kids probably running all over creation in search of candy. He made it through the darkened streets relatively unscathed, though Len did suspect he stopped an egging when he shot a murderous glare at some teenagers loaded down with a few cases of toilet paper and about a dozen cartons of eggs. He made a mental note to figure out to whom they belonged and to have a nice chat with their parents, right after he finished with Pike.

He would have raised his hand to knock on the front door, but before Len could make contact with the white metal, the barrier swung open with a whoosh of warm air. McCoy set his face to glare at his partner, but instead, he was met with the sight of an empty hallway. Brows furrowing, the patrol cop was momentarily confused until a small voice from about his waist's level grabbed his attention.

"You're too old to be trick-or-treating!"

Dropping his gaze, McCoy's jaw opened and closed a couple of times, though no sound came forth. Finally, he managed to say, "I'm not here for that. I'm looking for your dad. Where is he?"

The young boy hesitated. "Dad says I'm not supposed to let strangers in to our house."

Len was trying to figure out how to get past a pint-sized bouncer to gain entry to the Pike home when a familiar, smooth voice cut through the hallway. "Ethan? Did you just answer the door like I told you _not_ to do?"

"No," he answered quickly, digging the heel of one of his little black boots into the rug in front of the door. Nibbling on his lip, he dropped his head and amended guiltily, "Okay, yes?"

Chris came up behind his son and pulled the miniature Wyatt Earp style hat off his head. Ruffling his hair, Pike squatted down to Ethan's level and pointed up to the cop standing in the doorway. "Ethan, you remember this guy, right?"

The youngest Pike shook his head to the negative. He looked at his father for confirmation and asked, "Do I know him?"

"He's my partner, silly. Remember? He's been over for dinner more than a few times. You've used him as a human jungle gym," Chris said, looking up at McCoy with a twinkle in his eyes.

"Maybe this will help," McCoy replied, clearing his throat. He pulled the black Iowa City PD toque-style knit hat from his head and ran a couple of futile hands through his messy hair before he lowered his gaze back to Ethan's level. "How about now?"

The young boy's blue eyes lit up. His mouth opened in a wide 'O' before he announced, "Oh yeah! Now I remember you! Okay, you can come in. I know you."

McCoy gave Ethan a little salute as he stepped through the threshold. The young boy ran off, down the hall and into his room before Len could say another word while Chris closed the door behind his partner. The smell of cinnamon and apples wafted through the house, and McCoy's stomach rumbled appropriately. "Smells good. What's Lynn got going tonight?"

"Apple cro- Apple crost-something," Pike replied lamely while he waved a hand through the air. "It's like apple pie, but better. More butter and less crust."

"Apple crostada, Chris," Lynn corrected as she walked by the entryway of her home. She smiled warmly at her husband's partner and pulled him into a hug. "How are you, Len?"

"I'm good, ma-Lynn," he replied, catching himself when she tossed one of her famous glares in his direction. Though Chris' wife had repeatedly instructed him to call her Lynn, the manners his grandmother drilled into his head made it next to impossible for McCoy to call her anything but ma'am.

"I'm glad And Len, thank you so much for doing this tonight for your partner. You didn't have to, especially since it involved working a double. If I'd known it that, I would have told you not to do it. You look exhausted," Lynn told McCoy succinctly while she tisked her tongue gently. She sent a none-too-subtle glare in her husband's direction, hoping that he'd at least remember to say thank you.

McCoy, at least, was oblivious to the daggers Lynn was glaring at his partner. "I didn't sleep very well last night, and it's been a long day," he admitted with a loud sigh, rubbing his hands on his face.

"Well, come in. The least we can do is feed you and make you some real coffee," Pike replied, much to Lynn's relief. He wrapped one arm around McCoy while he shepherded the young cop down the hallway and into the kitchen.

The prospect of real coffee lifted McCoy spirits exponentially. The flavored water the station purported to be coffee barely registered in Len's blood stream when he drank it. Pike preferred the stronger mix as well, so it'd become a tradition that they pitted at Starbucks or Caribou right before they went 10-8 for the night. Since he'd been pulling double duty all day by working two shifts without a partner, McCoy hadn't really had time to stop and replenish his supply of caffeine. It was running dangerously low, so the little pick-me-up would be nice.

Both Pikes breezed into the kitchen and silently divided to conquer the tasks at hand. McCoy followed the pair and hung a left right past the door, automatically reaching for the cupboard he knew held Chris' coffee stash.

"Len, what are you doing?" Lynn's stern voice stopped McCoy's hand in mid-motion. He froze momentarily, spun on one heel and gaped at her like a fish staring down his predator.

Pointing to the cupboard, he answered hesitantly, "Making coffee?"

Lynn made a shooing motion with her hands. "No, you're not. I am making coffee for you."

"I'm pretty sure I can handle using the coffee pot," he replied.

"Usually, yes. But not tonight," Lynn announced while she elbowed her way past the much bigger man and reached up for the bag situated on the top shelf of the pantry. Pulling it down with a grunt and a long stretch, Lynn turned toward McCoy. She put her hands on her hips and pointed toward the kitchen table. "You're going to go sit down. I'm pulling rank on this. You're working a double – no helping. That's the rules."

"You spoil me, Lynn," McCoy replied, ducking his head and accepting the kiss she laid gently on his cheek while he passed.

She chucked under her breath. "Someone has to. Now go, before I smack you with a spatula."

"Be careful, partner," Pike warned. "She'll do it."

"Talking from personal experience again, are you?" McCoy questioned with an amused grunt. He stopped in the middle of the kitchen and, with a shrug, added, "Though it's better than talking out of your ass."

"He knows all about that!" Lynn exclaimed, pulling out some of the leftovers from dinner as she talked. Her comment earned a shake of her husband's head, but no further words passed his lips. Satisfied, she watched while Chris started the coffee's percolation process. At the same time, she tore up a tortilla, spooned some meat and some of the sautéed veggies into a bowl and added some cheese before she stuck the entire thing into the microwave. When the appliance dinged, Lynn pulled the lot out and added the cold garnishments before she brought the overflowing bowl to the table. She set it, along with the steaming mug of coffee, on the surface. "There you go, Len. Enjoy."

McCoy's mouth began to water as soon as the savory smell of the burritos reached his nose. He took a big drink of water before he grabbed the fork Pike handed to him and wordlessly dug in. "This is really good," he said after swallowing most of what was in his mouth. "You make it?"

"Hell, no," was Chris' response. "You should know by now that you don't want to eat my cooking."

"Chris' idea of 'cooking' is calling ahead for it, and picking it up in the car. You should see the takeout menus I have to hide from him," Lynn added while she came to join the men at the table, grasping a mug of coffee between her petite hands. Pointing to the food, she said, "Is that warm enough for you?"

McCoy waved a hand while he shoveled another bite into his mouth. "Don't worry about it. It's food that didn't come from a drive through, and it's not wrapped in plastic. I don't care if it's warm."

"I wish Ethan was that easy to please," Pike grumbled.

Len's dark eyebrows descended straight down into a deep, canyon-esque furrow. He raised an eyebrow at his partner before he asked, "Yeah, about that. What, exactly, is he supposed to be?"

Chris shrugged and turned the palms of his hands upward. "My son couldn't decide if he wanted to be a vampire or a cowboy, so we compromised and let him be both."

McCoy harrumphed out a surprised grunt. "How…creative," he supplied, trying not to laugh.

"Hey! I thought the combination idea was pretty damned cool!" Chris replied with a laugh in his voice. "Lynn made him that costume from scratch. Took hours."

He nodded, taking another bite of the burrito salad. "I guess that explains the fangs, then."

"Ah, you saw those. I wasn't sure if you did," Pike said.

Len rolled his eyes. "I'm a cop, Pike. I get paid to notice things."

Over the good-natured bickering, Lynn decided to cut in with, "That was Ethan's request, and it was the whole reason why he looks like a possessed cowboy. He informed me vehemently that he needed to have fangs, or he wasn't going trick or treating."

Chris smiled fondly while he looked toward his son's room. He could hear Ethan playing with something, given the sounds of rocket ships and laser fire floated down the hallway. "His costume is all he's been talking about for the past week. He was so excited to get ready tonight that he even ate dinner with those things on his teeth."

"How did he manage that?" McCoy asked incredulously.

"I made mac and cheese with hot dogs for him. I don't think you actually have to have to chew to eat that stuff."

"Mmm," Len replied while he stifled a yawn. Leaning back from his empty plate, he stretched his back by twisting his torso left and right while he rolled his neck around to loosen it up. McCoy rubbed a particularly tender spot right under his collar bone and just to the side of shoulder in a vain attempt to work out the kinks he felt knotted in the pectoral muscle. When it didn't really help, he gave up with a disgusted grunt.

Pike couldn't help but feel for the young cop, since it was really his fault McCoy was so obviously beat. "How much longer are you on meal?"

He checked his watch. "I have another twenty minutes."

Lynn stood and excused herself form the table. Whispered something in Pike's ear before she disappeared down the hallway and into the laundry room, she gave Len a little hug before wishing him a good night. Chris nodded to his wife before he said to his partner, "Grab some couch, McCoy. Make yourself comfortable."

"Thanks," he replied, settling into the middle section of the plush couch in the Pike living room. He toed off his boots and propped his feet up on the ottoman off to his right. Len turned his radio down to a dull roar, titled his head back and let his body relax into the cushions. He closed his eyes and exhaled a long, satisfying breath. '_Just five minutes,_' he told himself.

Pike smiled while he watched McCoy all but pass out the moment his head hit something fluffy and soft. He rattled around the kitchen for a few minutes, cleaning up after Len's impromptu meal. Chris kept a careful eye on the clock, knowing that McCoy was still technically on duty for another six hours. He gave his partner ten minutes before he queried gently, "Len?" in a normal, conversationally appropriate tone. When no answer came, Chris craned his neck toward the living room and tried again. "McCoy?"

Still no response. Pike tilted his head to the side and set the empty Tupperware container in the dishwasher. He closed it with his foot, padded over toward the living room, and smiled brightly when he reached the threshold. A year previous, what he saw would have been positively unfathomable, but now, the sight of Leonard McCoy out cold on his couch was…well, amusing. His FNG's eyes were closed, arms splayed over the backrest. Len's head was tipped back, and titled to the left just slightly. It was enough of an odd angle that, had he been able to sleep for more than a couple of minutes, would have given him a hell of sore neck in a few hours' time. A soft, light snore flittered past the young cop's lips, and Pike found himself biting the inside of his lip to keep from laughing out loud. For such a caustic man while he was awake, McCoy looked almost demure in sleep. It was more than odd, and it had the sergeant scratching his head.

As much as he would have liked to allow it, he knew that McCoy was just on his dinner break and therefore couldn't sleep forever. Chris had one foot in the air when a thought struck him. Smiling wickedly, he turned around headed toward his son's room instead. He passed his wife on the way there. Hissing out a, "Hey, Lynn!" he motioned for her to come towards him before she walked out his earshot.

Lynn narrowed her eyes. She was well versed in the mischievous look that would often shoot through his eyes right before he did something annoying, stupid or absolutely brilliant. Normally, his eyes lit up right before a little dopey grin made its way across her lips. Lynn also knew her husband's shoulders would tense in anticipation, and though he tried to control it, he fidgeted when something exciting was about to happen. Stepping around Chris' front, she closed one small hand around his bicep to keep him in place. "What are you dragging me into this time?"

"I need a favor," Chris said evasively. His eyes inadvertently slid toward the living room while she simply stared at him, waiting for him to continue.

"Oh, I know where this is going, and I'm not sure I'm going to like it. As happy as I am that you're finally getting along with that nice young man in our living room, you'd better not scare him too badly if you want to keep him as your permanent partner," Lynn scolded lightly, though the curious expression on her face betrayed her words of wisdom.

"You know me, Lynn. It'll be great."

"That's what I'm worried about. What are you going to do to Leonard?" she asked skeptically.

"_I'm_ not going to do anything. Our son is," Chris answered as if what he was about to propose was the greatest idea since sliced bread. "Just trust me on this one, Lynn. Grab the camera, will you?" he said, pulling away from her.

"The camera? Why?" she replied, narrowing her eyes in abject suspicion. Her husband might be a sergeant and respected cop, but he was still as big of a practical joker as they came. Still, she was intrigued, so Lynn started digging through the desk positioned in the corner of their bedroom for the little camera Chris bought her for her birthday earlier in the year.

While he heard his wife searching for the camera, Pike made his way down the hall to his son's room. Poking his head in, he asked, "Ethan? Are you ready to go trick-or-treating?"

"Yeah!" the child replied, rocketing off the carpet and nearly out the door.

Chris' quick reflexes stopped his son from tearing down the hallway. Pike pulled the distressed and tattered hat from the hook on the back of Ethan's door, plopping it on the boy's head. He waited until his offspring stopped fidgeting before he said, "We're going to go trick or treating, but first, I need your help. Do you think you can do that?"

Ethan straightened his hat so the small divot missing from the edge of the brim lined up with a clear path for his right eye. He angled his chin down but looked up toward his father, just to make sure he had the right effect. Satisfied, he answered, "Yeah. What is it?"

"You know how you said you wished you could act like a real vampire? Well, I think I found way you can," Chris replied while he attempted to keep a straight face.

Ethan's eyes popped open wide before a grin danced across his face. "Really? How? HOW?" he shouted.

Pike gently shushed his son and grabbed him around the middle when he tried to squirm past the adult-sized roadblock. Seriously, Chris told Ethan, "If you want to do this, you're going to have to be really, really quiet. Do you think you can do that?"

Ethan caught his father's serious expression and sobered as much as a six year old could. He brought his hand up and made a zipping motion across his lips while his face took on a very stern air. "Yep," he answered.

Chris had to stifle a giggle, though with the animated nature of both himself and Lynn, the sergeant wasn't surprised that his son wasn't short of personality. Straightening to his full height, he reached for Ethan's hand while he led his son down the hallway. When they reached the kitchen, Pike reminded the boy of the need for quiet by placing a finger over his lips. "You ready?" he asked in a low rumble.

Ethan looked up questioningly toward his father. "For what?"

Chris stopped his son right next to the kitchen table and pointed. "See my partner over there? He told me that he would love to be a little vampire's first victim."

Ethan's eyes, nearly identical in shade to Pike's own, lit up and flared a bright, excited blue. He practically tore out of his father's grasp, and it was only another quick grab by Chris that prevented him from jumping on top of the sleeping McCoy.

"Ethan!" Chris exclaimed, grabbing the wriggling child while the boy's legs kicked through the air. Pike narrowly avoided rowel to the mouth (real riding spurs were _not_ a smart idea) before he wrestled Ethan back to the ground. "Son, we have to wait!"

"Why?" he whined, looking pathetically impatient while he picked away at one of the fangs attached to his teeth.

"Because Len told me that he wanted to have a picture, and your mom's looking for the camera," Pike lied cheerfully to his son.

Ethan mulled over the logic of it in the best way a six year old could. He sat up, straightened his costume and adjusted his hat. "Okay, but can mom hurry? I want candy!"

Pike laughed, low and deep. "You and I will get plenty of candy, but right after we get this picture. Deal?"

"Deal," he said with a nod. Ethan crossed his arms over his chest and waited.

A couple of long minutes later, Lynn appeared silently from the bedroom with the camera in hand. She took her place opposite the couch while she smiled apologetically in the sleeping man's direction. She felt badly about what she suspected her husband was going to ask his son to do, but at the same time, she also knew McCoy's reaction would be completely worth it. Sighing, Lynn waved the small device triumphantly at her husband while she inserted a battery into the well. "It was dead. I don't think this has more than a couple of pictures in it for the flash, so you'd better make sure it's right the first time," she said to her husband while she settled into the armchair opposite the couch.

"Oh, we will," he replied. Chris dragged the small stepstool Lynn kept in the kitchen into the living room and set it flush against the back of the couch. Turning to his son, Pike instructed, "Ethan, that's for you. Climb up that stepstool and give my partner's neck a nice, hard bite, okay?"

The six year old licked his lips and slinked up to the stool. Ethan grabbed the back of the couch and hauled himself up, titling his little head to the side. Pike followed directly behind, just to be sure his son wasn't going to fall. The child zeroed in on his target – a nice, fleshy patch of exposed skin right below the collar of McCoy's shirt but above the scoop of his vest – and cackled nearly manically. When Ethan was securely kneeling on the top of the two step ladder, he looked questioningly up at his father. "Now?" he whispered.

Pike took a peek at Lynn, and when she lifted the camera and readied the shutter, he, nodded. "Now, son."

Ethan bared the long, sharp fangs attached securely to his teeth. He lifted his eyes up toward his mother, and draped his little arms around McCoy's neck. At the same time, he brought his head over Len's left shoulder and sank his bite down on to the man's neck. The needlelike points dug into the sensitive recesses of skin, causing divots the harder he pressed. A little high pitched growl floated from the child's mouth while he latched on, clearly thrilled.

The stab of pain jolted the cop from his doze, and a bright flash of light made him gasp out loud. Rocketing off the couch, Len yelped in surprise. The sudden movement started a chain reaction; his duty rig rattled, his radio catapulted out of the holder and his hand flew up to his neck. McCoy spun around a half circle, ready to pummel the daylights out of whoever was attacking him when his brain started to register where he was.

Of course, the rich, loud laughter from his partner helped serve as an additional reminder. Pike was down on one knee in the kitchen, right elbow resting on the table while he buried his face in the crook of his forearm. The patrol cop's eyes followed the path from his partner toward his partner's son, the latter looking entirely too smug for his own childlike good. Ethan's arms were crossed over his chest while he stared up at the man towering over his tiny frame. He expressed no fear whatsoever, instead reciprocating with a lift of his eyebrows and a mischievous glint to his eyes. With a satisfied half smile on his face, the fangs poked out from underneath his lip, enhancing the nearly feral grin.

With a deep sigh, McCoy spun around and looked across the room. He saw Lynn valiantly trying to cover her own squeaky amusement with the hand she held in front of her face. His eyes drifted downward to the small, square object in her hands. Len's posture deflated and he sunk back down on the couch. Working his jaw back and forth, McCoy muttered under his breath, "There are no words."

"Oh, I'm sure there are plenty, but I appreciate you not saying them in front of my six year old," Chris replied, finally pulling himself up off the floor. He flopped into the dining room chair next to McCoy's empty cup of coffee and laid his elbows on the table.

"Nothing he hasn't heard with you as his dad," McCoy fired back while he tried to find his dignity, somewhere attached to the ceiling.

"Oh, come on, Len. You actually taught me a thing or two about cursing, and I was in the Corps." Pike threw his hands up in the air, and even though he couldn't see it, he knew McCoy's eyes were rolling as he tried to cover his embarrassment.

Len cleared his throat while he accepted his radio from Lynn's outreached hand. He stuck it in the correct holder and resituated his gear. Settling back in on the couch, McCoy turned his glare from Chris over to Lynn and back to Chris. He watched as his partner and partner's wife as they tried valiantly to contain their giggles, though the snickers the floated through the air gave away the level of success.

McCoy tried to keep up the pretense of anger he was directing at both of the adults until he turned his attention to the child in the middle of the room. The boy was still wearing the same superior, impish and most importantly, proud expression all over his face. Swearing up and down that the western hat Ethan was wearing was fully supported by a pair of genetically inherited devil's horns, McCoy conceded defeat. He sighed, pursed his lips and nearly smiled. Rubbing his hands over his face, the cop spun a quarter of the way around on the couch and faced his tormentor. Len extended a hand over the backrest and softened his face, licking his lips. "Pretty good, kid."

"Thank you!" Ethan called out while he scrambled out of the kitchen. He pulled the old, western style trench coat from the hook by the door and practically bounced in place. "Can we go now, Dad?"

Pike sighed and shrugged while he stood up to grab his jacket and flashlight. "Just give me a couple of minutes. Okay, Ethan? Go find the pumpkin you were going to use for tonight."

"Okay!" Ethan answered before tearing off toward his room, the spurs on his boots rattling loudly against the floor. In a flash, the younger Pike was back in front of the door, all decked out in his costume and ready for a night on the town. He waved a happy goodbye to McCoy before he called, "Bye, Dad's partner!"

Chris bit his lip to keep from laughing too loudly while he shrugged his favorite worn, faded Carhartt jacket over his sweatshirt. "I guess this means we're leaving." He walked over to where McCoy sat, still rooted in place, and laid a hand on his shoulder. "Len, I owe you for this. Thank you."

"Oh, you're damned right you owe me for this, and I'm not talking about the double!" McCoy said, accepting Pike's outstretched hand while he hopped to his feet. He reached into his pocket and pulled out the set of keys Chris left at the station earlier and dropped them on the counter. Smiling genuinely, he said, "I'll see you at roll tomorrow."

Chris nodded and chased his six year old out the door. McCoy followed behind, pulling the door closed to the house before he waved a goodbye to both his partner and his partner's son. He slid easily into the car while he advised dispatch he was ready to be back on duty. Len sat in the driver's seat and chuckled to himself. Chris got him, and he got him good, and it was going to take some serious planning to repay the favor.

When he turned his head to make sure his path was clear, McCoy's collar brushed up against the sensitive pinch mark from the Ethan's fangs. Len suddenly wished that he didn't hate turtleneck shirts so much since a taller collar might have hidden the rather incriminating evidence. McCoy grimaced; even though they wouldn't be puncture marks, it was still going to be fun explaining the red splotches at the base of his neck to the other guys on the shift. 'Pike's son did it,' didn't quite have a convincing ring to it.

McCoy pulled out of Chris' neighborhood and back on to the quiet street, rubbing at the sore spot on his neck while he contemplated his next move. He wasn't mad at his partner, nor would he ever be able to bring himself to be angry with Ethan. He was simply irritated that he'd once again dropped his guard around Chris and was now paying the piper for it. Remembering the flash of light and the camera in her hand, Len groaned and sent a silent prayer heavenward that perhaps Lynn's finger got in the way of the lens when she depressed the button on the camera.

Right. When in his life had he _ever_ been that lucky?

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><p><strong>Next Up<strong>: McCoy doesn't know why, he doesn't know how, but he sure as hell knows who. How is he so sure? Because it's always Jim Kirk's fault. _Always_.


	3. Chapter 3

**Author's Notes**: So, this story ended being way longer than I intended. Surprise, surprise, right? Having said that, I'm happy with the way it turned out, even if it meant that it was a little late in completion. I owe a big thanks to my beta, Wicked Jade, for reviewing this bad boy with a fine-toothed comb. Also, I want to say thank you to all of you that are reading, and I hope you've enjoyed it!

**Disclaimer**: I checked, and the only things I own in this story are the plot and two-thirds of the Pike family. The rest belongs to Paramount and Gene Roddenberry.

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><p><strong>Chapter 3<strong>

_Twelve years later (present time)_

The list Ethan Pike had tacked on the back of his door was surprisingly long, given the fact he still had three months to kill before he headed off to college. On the top, it included staple items like "buy ramen" and "don't forget all Call of Duty games" along with less important stuff such as "pick up textbooks" and "find class schedule" scribbled at the bottom of the page as an afterthought. But when he came home from work a few days after his graduation party, Ethan titled his head at the appearance of a new Post-It stuck to the bottom of the list. In his father's slanted scrawl, he read, "Avoid McCoy," in big, black, capital letters.

Puzzled, Ethan plucked the note from the list and bounced down the stairs leading to the basement. He paused right outside his father's office door and took in the rich, warm sounds of an acoustic guitar being strummed on the other side. He loved hearing it; Ethan grew up around the constant sounds of music, and it was a love that he inherited from his father. He waited for a couple of seconds before he recognized the song. Smiling to himself, the teen pushed the door open and stuck his head in the room. "It's been a while since I've heard you play that one."

Pike looked up from his seat in the plush chair in front of the desk and grinned. His fingers still worked the guitar, picking out the right notes to fill in the song, "I was in the mood for a little Beatles today."

"I won't complain if you decide you want to punch out Let It Be. I remember you used to play that for me when I was a kid. Always made me feel better," Ethan replied while he walked through the room and flopped down on the couch, stretching his full frame out while he let the musical memories melt around him.

"You're finally acknowledging my talents? I never thought I'd live to see the day." Pike let the last couple of notes ring around the room before he set his guitar in the upright stand on the floor and asked, "What's up, Ethan?"

Post-It note dangling off the tips of his fingers, the teen held up the yellow square and responded with, "Care to explain this?"

"That." Chris dropped his head and let out a low chuckle. Shaking one finger in his offspring's direction, he said, "You've been causing quite a stir at the station lately."

Ethan picked his head up from the couch and looked his father in the eye. "Oh?"

Pike walked over to the couches stationed in his office. Settling into the loveseat perpendicular to his son, he said with a wry grin, "You should consider yourself lucky that you've known Len for as long as you have. He's watched you grow up, which is the only reason you're still breathing right now."

Ethan sat up, flipped his baseball hat around backwards and asked, "What are you taking about, Dad?"

Pike said nothing in reply; instead, he simply pointed with the guitar pick to a piece of paper sitting on his desk. "I'm talking about that."

Ethan shot his father a questioning look, stood and ambled toward the oversized desk. He reached for the paper and picked it up. His sharp blue eyes scanned the document, and with an innocence he most certainly learned from Chekov, he said, "Someone emailed out that picture of me and McCoy from Halloween when I was six? Who got their hands on it?"

Chris motioned toward the file boxes sitting next to the printer. "Top basket. It's the first document you'll see in there." He watched Ethan from his place on the loveseat, snickering silently to himself while he waited for the appropriate response.

On the page, Jim's message of 'My partner, the vampire,' was clearly visible, along with the attachment of the picture. Ethan chuckled at the image; no matter how many times he walked by the picture in his father's office, it was still funny, even after the passage of twelve years. His eyes scrolled down to the end of Jim's message, noting that Jim sent it to the entirety of the Iowa City PD's email address list, sans McCoy. Ethan's eyes drifted past Kirk's signature at the bottom and toward a page break and a new header, which he knew would contain the original sender's email address.

His _own_ email address.

Staring at him in stark black and white was the irrefutable proof that A) Jim Kirk was a dumbass, and B) It was time for some serious damage control. Ethan felt his heart lurch forward while he read the message that accompanied the scan of what was probably one of McCoy's most embarrassing moments. 'Jim, here's that picture you wanted. Good luck with it. –E,' it read. Short, sweet, and to the point, which was probably similar in execution to the beating McCoy was going to put on him when he caught up with the teen. With a growl, Ethan balled it up in his fists and practically yelled, "Dammit, Jim!"

"That," Pike started, "Is strangely what McCoy growled when he finally threatened someone into telling him why the entire department was snickering every time he walked past."

Inhale. Hold it. Exhale. Ethan remembered the breathing exercises his peewee coach taught him when one of the opposing man-children drilled him with a brutal open ice hit. He felt the surge of adrenaline rushing forth, but he fought it down so he could think clearly. "Okay. He might not have realized that I was the one that leaked that picture."

Chris snorted a nearly high-pitched squeak of amusement. "You know how he is, Ethan. He's going to figure it out, and when he does, you'll be smart to avoid him for a few days."

Ethan cringed. Plopping himself down into his father's vacated desk chair, the teen dropped his head into his hands and moaned, "He's that mad, huh Dad?"

"Oh, worse," Chris replied, walking over to lay a consoling hand on his son's back. "I don't think I've seen him this angry since the moment I assigned him Jim as a partner. I guess there is a good side to all of this. Kirk is so terrified of McCoy right now that he's actually willing to shut up and listen."

Ethan silently rolled his eyes, picked himself up off the chair, and trudged up the stairs to his bedroom. Firing up his computer, he signed into email account and clicked on the new message option. If there was ever a time that he needed Pavel's insight and, ahem, _wisdom_ in skirting the blame, it was right now. Double clicking on his best friend's address, Ethan prayed that Chekov wasn't too busy being a super brainiac to help. His fingers danced over the keyboard as he typed a quick message that amounted to, "Dude, I need to borrow your genius," before he punched the send button.

The sound of a set of screeching tires interrupted his train of thoughts, and the teen wandered over to his window to see what the commotion was about. Two car doors opened, then slammed closed, interrupted by the scuffle of footsteps. Ethan heard a pair of male voices make their way through the open window and into his bedroom, and he cringed when recognition floated it through his brain.

"_ETHAN CHRISTOPER PIKE, YOU LITTLE SHIT! GET YOUR ASS OUT HERE AND TAKE YOUR BEATING LIKE A MAN!"_

Well, there was no mistaking that tone. Ethan stuck his head up to the screen of the window, and with his nose pressed against the mesh, he shouted in defiant reply, "Only my mom's allowed to use my full name, McCoy!"

McCoy shook his head and practically stomped toward the entrance of the Pike home, followed closely by an apologetic Kirk. Ethan felt the pressure inside the house change when the garage door was opened and then closed, right before two sets of footsteps invaded the kitchen. He powered down his computer, pushed the chair out from in front of his desk, and wandered out into the main living area to meet the impromptu guests. Feigning ignorance, Ethan asked innocently, "'Sup?"

The sergeant slapped the image in question down on the tabletop while he stepped back and crossed his arms over his chest. "I think I'm owed an explanation for this."

"Bones, you can't just accept that it seemed like a good idea and leave it at that?" Kirk asked.

"No, because in order to have a good idea, it means you have to think about something first. You. Don't. Think, Jim," McCoy fired right back while he turned on his heel to face his partner. He leaned dangerously into Kirk's personal space, and it was only Jim's familiarity with the sergeant that prevented him from shirking backwards in abject terror.

Pike hopped up the steps from the basement when he heard the commotion on the main level. "Looks like I'm missing the show."

"There's nothing to see here, Chris," McCoy insisted while he whipped his head around toward his former partner. "I'm just about to pummel the life out of my partner and your son for that," he said, stabbing one finger toward the crumpled up email he managed to extort from a helplessly giggling Chapel in personnel.

"I have no objections to Kirk, but when you're threatening bodily injury against my son, I might have to get involved. What did he do?" Pike asked, playing dumb.

"You were in the office today, and even if you never get off your ass and out from behind that damned desk, even you couldn't have missed the laughs every time I walked by," McCoy replied, eyes narrowed and jaw set. "He sent that to my partner, who in turn, sent it to every goddamned address in the department's email list."

"Hey, how the hell was I supposed to know what Jim was going to do with it? I just thought he wanted it for his wall of shame!" Ethan insisted.

"You're not that dumb, kid," McCoy snorted. "You knew exactly what my infant partner was going to do with it."

Ethan sat down in one of the kitchen chairs, leaning casually back against the backrest. He tapped the fingers of his left hand against the tabletop and cocked his head to the side. The teen found and held McCoy's glare before he retorted, "This is not _all_ my fault, so why are you all staring at me like it is?"

"Learning deflection, I see. You've been hanging around Jim too long, Ethan."

"On that, I'd actually agree," Pike chimed in from his place near the kitchen counter.

Turning his head sharply toward his father, Ethan glared daggers the man sitting across the table. "Don't even play, Dad. Like, don't even try. You sound like a moron."

Chris raised a surprised eyebrow. "Why are you yelling at me? I had nothing to do with this!"

"Oh, you had _everything_ to do with it," Ethan replied, emphasizing the middle word of the sentence. His eyes went stony and cold while he adjusted his sights to a new target. "You were the one who put me up to biting him in the first place, so I fail to see how you weren't involved."

"I just suggested!" Pike insisted.

"No, you withheld candy! That, in itself, is a criminal offense. I distinctly remember you telling me that I could go trick or treating as soon as I took care of something for you. Now you know why I never listen to you when you say, 'Come here, son. I need a favor.' It's because I know better!" Ethan sat back in his chair, defiant and triumphant. His foot tapped restlessly against the leg of the chair while he listened to the sound of the ticking clock nestled amongst the family pictures on the mantle of the fireplace.

From the hallway, a new voice entered the conversation. "Are we having a party now? Why didn't anyone invite me?" Lynn Pike asked as she wrestled a couple of large bags through the door.

McCoy and Pike both reached out helpful hands to take the large, heavy and recently dry cleaned bedspreads from her arms. She reached out to give hugs to Jim, then Ethan and finally McCoy before she exchanged a quick kiss with her husband. The tension in the room was palpable as much as the glares were obvious, and Lynn felt it right away. Her head darted back and forth before she laid both hands on her hips and asked, "What's going on here?"

"McCoy says he's going to murder me," Ethan supplied succinctly while he kept glaring at the sergeant. "I think I'd like to see him try."

Jim's eyes drifted down to the gun attached to his partner's right hip. "E, he's still armed."

"So? He won't shoot me," Ethan replied assertively.

Lynn's voice cut into the fray. "No he won't, because if even thinks about trying, he'll have to answer to me," Lynn replied in her patented no-nonsense, 'I'm-the-mom, so-the-rest-of-you-can-kindly-piss-right-off,' voice. "Now, what has you ready to commit a felony, Len?"

"Your son, your husband, and my partner. That's what." He pointed wordlessly toward the picture and the email while he waited for her to read it. Knowing Lynn's thoughts as he did, McCoy was supremely confident that he'd inherited at least one ally.

Lynn's small, slender fingers scooped up Chapel's email and the accompanying attachment. She saw the picture first; her face lit up fondly for just the briefest of moments before she flipped the page to the actual message. Reading it, the small, loving smile turned into a scowl of disappointment. She turned toward Kirk and Ethan and scolded, "Boys, you didn't."

Ethan rolled his eyes while he exhaled a dramatic, put upon sigh. "Oh, not you, too! Come on, Mom. I just told Dad he's not innocent here, and I'll tell you the same thing. This is as much your fault as it is mine and Jim's."

"And how do you figure that, young man?"

"Do you guys think I don't remember what went down that night? For real?" the teen squeaked out. "I might have been young, but I'm pretty sure I remember that Halloween. Mom, you made me wait until you found the camera, and then the battery for it before you'd let me do anything!"

From across the room, the sound of McCoy's jaw dropping was audible to every person present. "I never heard this part!" he yelled.

Chris waved a dismissive hand through the air. In his sergeant's direction, Pike replied, "Oh, give me a break. Do you really think that you'd have been able to resist had our roles been reversed?"

The way McCoy gently chewed away at his lower lip spoke loudly – there was no way he would have been able to resist such a lucrative moment. Recovering, he plastered the embarrassed grimace back on his face when he added, "But I wouldn't have emailed the picture to the entire damned department, like my soon-to-be-dead partner did."

Lynn actually laughed out loud. The sudden, higher pinched sound surprised the room's occupants. She cleared her throat in order to speak and stated pithily in the way only she could do, "Oh, you're such a drama queen, Len. I think that picture is adorable."

"'Me' and 'adorable' don't belong in the same sentence," McCoy proclaimed over the chorus of snickers.

"That's what you think," Lynn sing-songed out while she waved on finger in the air, her face cracking simultaneously into a wide grin.

McCoy watched as his tormentors all lost their battle with laughter from Lynn's blunt observations. Damn that woman, she was good. He glared at each person individually before he said, "Fine. I can see I'm not going to get anywhere with you thickheaded morons." To Kirk, he said, "Come on, Jim. We're leaving."

"Already, Bones? Man, I was just staring to enjoy this!"

"No, you were enjoying your reprieve from death," McCoy said over his shoulder.

Jim coughed into his hand and wiped some moisture from the corner of his eyes. He waved a goodbye to the Pike family before he followed a steaming McCoy to the door toward the cruiser.

"Bye McCoy!" Ethan called smugly as the pair walked out the door, arguing all the way to the car.

Pike waited until the sound of the Charger's engine roared in the driveway before he sat back in his chair. With a smirk, he turned to face his family as he said, "Well, I think that went well, didn't it?"

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><p>Jim must have been born with a lucky horseshoe shoved up his ass, because the rest of the night kept the cops too busy for the sergeant to even consider payback for the mass emailing. Serdeski had the pair running all over creation, putting out one fire in time for three more to crop up. By the end of the night, all McCoy wanted was to go home, crank up a little blues in his apartment, and simply relax. He walked out of the station in the dead of night and was just about to toss his duffel bag duffel bag full of dirty laundry into the trunk of his car when some unnatural movement from the bank of trees near his car caught his attention. Turning his head toward the shadowy figure nearly hidden by the lush branches, Len said, "I thought that was you standing there."<p>

Ethan Pike took a couple of steps out from the tree that he was using for cover. "I could have been someone with a grudge and a .40. Not very observant, McCoy."

"In that case, I would be dead now."

"Right, but who have you really pissed off that badly to earn that honor?" Ethan replied while he sauntered up to lean up against the front quarter panel of McCoy's POV.

The sergeant turned and laid his forearms on the frame of the open driver's side door. Spinning the key around his finger, he replied, "You want to keep that list exclusive to criminals, or should I include other cops, too?"

"Come on, man. This is Iowa City, not Compton."

McCoy let out a little grunt, effectively ending that particular conversation thread. He looked the teen up and down. "Did you walk here?" At Ethan's nod, he motioned toward the passenger door. "Get it. I'll give you a ride home."

"I was just going out for coffee, actually. I needed to get out of the house a little bit. Mom's been going a little crazy since my graduation party. I think she thinks that since her 'little boy' is leaving for college in a couple of months, she'll never see me again. She's kind of smothering me," Ethan admitted with a pained grimace.

The sergeant grinned. "I hate to tell you that, Ethan, but it's natural."

"What, do you have personal experience talking now?" the younger man asked without really thinking about his words' ramifications with his father's old partner. Instantaneously, Ethan closed his eyes and kicked himself for such insensitivity. Of all the stupid, idiotic things to say…

McCoy managed not to visibly flinch. He knew that Ethan didn't mean it like he said it, but it still didn't lessen the sting of the kid's words and the implications behind it. He slid into the driver's seat and started the Mustang's engine. After Len allowed the silence to ring for a couple more seconds, he worked to school his face to impassivity before he replied, "Not personal experience per say, no. But, I think it's what I would be feeling if Jo was going off to school like you are."

Ethan shook his head. "I'm sorry, Len. I didn't mean it like that. I just – I didn't exactly think before I said it. Pike trait, I guess," he said with an earnest, apologetic shrug. The teen was suddenly glad for the cover of night; at least this way, he knew McCoy had a lesser chance of seeing just how red his face was.

"You don't need to apologize to me for that. It's the truth, as much as I hate it," McCoy admitted with a long sigh. He reached behind him and grabbed the seatbelt, clicking it into place while he motioned for Ethan to do the same. "You're allowed to observe and report."

Swallowing back the lump in his throat at the ill-timed, impromptu mention of McCoy's recently discovered daughter Joanna, Ethan shifted in his seat to alleviate some of the sudden tension winding through his body. He chanced a glance over toward the driver of the car while the pair pulled out on to the main road leading from the station and said simply, "Thanks. My mouth gets ahead of my brain still."

"If your old man's any indication, that's not going to change any time soon. The only difference between you two is that he stopped caring who he pissed off years ago," Tilting his head to the side, McCoy decided on a peace offering. "Did you still want that coffee?"

"Yeah," Ethan laughed out while he resituated the hat on his head.

McCoy pulled into the drive-thru of the nearest Starbucks and rolled the window down. Both men ordered and after retrieving their drinks, the sergeant pulled off to the side of the parking lot to secure his beverage for the ride home. Taking a long sip, he peeked over at Ethan, chuckling at what he saw.

The teen had the cover off his caramel macchiato and was busy adding two more sugar packets and some extra cream to the drink. He stirred in the whipped cream and replaced the lid. He took a big gulp from the drink before he set it in the cup holder on the floor. "What?" he asked in response to McCoy's silently amused stare.

"That is an insult to coffee," Len replied. He took a drink of his own black, untainted brew while he shuddered inwardly at the overwhelming sweetness of Ethan's already sugary drink. "You are going to be up all night with all that caffeine and sugar."

"God, now you sound like my dad. Are you sure you didn't just meet your daughter last year? Because really, you're a natural," Ethan replied incredulously, shaking his head.

"I've had plenty of practice, thanks to your dad giving me Jim as a partner."

Ethan nodded, conceding the fact that McCoy was more than right. He took another drink of his coffee and said, "About that. Jim and my dad. I think they bought it."

McCoy snorted loudly before he pulled the car onto the road. "Hook, line and sinker, kid."

"Well, you put on a good show. I have to admit, it was great. All dramatic and shit," Ethan responded honestly. "I especially liked when you screamed at me through the front window. I almost lost it right there."

A sly, nearly proud smirk passed over McCoy's face before he covered it with the practiced ease of a lifelong babysitter. "Like I said, practice. Jim's a good guinea pig."

"Are you ever going to tell Kirk that you've known about that pool for about ten years now?" Ethan asked his dad's longtime partner while he distractedly watched the road.

"Eventually, I suppose I'll have to make a confession."

Nodding, the younger Pike scoffed as he remembered what his father said offhandedly earlier in the day about McCoy and his infantile partner. Rhetorically, he said, "But it's more fun to make him squirm, I'm assuming. The immaculate confession won't be happening anytime soon."

"You got it," McCoy answered succinctly.

"Ever the opportunist, McCoy."

The sergeant shrugged. "I do what I can."

"I wish someone would have recorded Serdeski's face when Jim gave him those pictures," Ethan started, turning in his seat towards McCoy. He grimaced when the seat belt bit into the side of his neck. Adjusting it, he continued by saying, "I mean, haven't you always told everyone the truth about why your neck was so scraped up that night?"

"That's all I've ever told them. It's not my fault if they were too stupid to believe it," McCoy replied with a hint of disdain ringing through his voice. Truly, if he had a dollar for every time someone brought up the marks on his neck through another outlandish, ridiculous theory during the course of the last twelve years, he wouldn't still be working. Or, at very least, he'd have a nice, padded retirement fund courtesy of his morbidly curious co-workers, who apparently couldn't figure out the truth when it slapped them in the face. The money would have been a small consolation for all the suffering, but more so, it would have eased the tingle of disconcertion, considering he worked with a bunch of police officers for a living. On the flip side, if Greg Serdeski thought McCoy didn't know about the pool on him for those particular marks, he was thicker than the cold cuts the desk sergeant was famous for eating.

In the passenger's seat, Ethan seemed to read McCoy's mind. "Don't forget we _are_ talking about Serdeski. When has he ever given up when it comes to you, especially when he gets something stuck in his head?" Ethan asked while he wracked his brain, trying to recall one time where Greg conceded defeat when the topic was McCoy. Unable to remember even one specific episode, he added, "I mean, really? Like, it's almost an obsession, his jealousy."

"I don't know what he'd be jealous of," McCoy said, a bit self-consciously.

Ethan recognized his neighborhood as the car crested the hill just down the road from his turn-off. "Plenty, apparently. I mean, you have your stunning personality, your friendly demeanor, the way you deal with the public with such a gentle, loving hand…" the teen joked while he fought to keep a straight face.

"Keep going, and I'll waffle you," McCoy growled.

Throwing his head back and laughing, the teen replied, "That would require a squad, one of those old dividers, and me in the back seat. I don't think so, Len."

"I can make it happen. Scotty's been itching for a project to do, and I'm sure he'd love to custom-make a set of divider bars. Maybe I could bribe him into welding some pansy-ass design with it so you'd have to explain away the impressions in your skin after you've been sent flying into it."

"Try it. I'm game."

"Do you want to become the next Jim Kirk?" the sergeant asked semi-seriously as he pulled the car into Chris' driveway.

Ethan unbuckled his seat belt and reached his hand across the car. Accepting the handshake from McCoy, he said, "No, man. I think you've got your hands full with Jim. I'll stay on the sidelines until you need someone else to amuse you."

"Don't hold your breath. Jim's enough trouble to last me a lifetime."

Ethan looked down and smirked before he lifted himself up and out of the car. Leaning his right arm on the roof, he bent down and stuck his head back into the cabin of the vehicle. "Hey, you said it, not me: he's good practice. Maybe you can put it to good use when Joanna tells you she's getting married."

McCoy snorted loudly and rolled his eyes. "God help us all then."

"I hear that. Might actually be a good reason to start another pool," the younger Pike said with mirth in his voice and mischief in his eyes.

"Ethan," McCoy warned, low and threatening.

"Okay, okay! I surrender!" he replied, tossing his hands up in the air. Shifting, Ethan added, "Thanks for the ride, McCoy, and for the coffee."

"My pleasure. Least I could do." Len motioned toward the front door with a flick of his long fingers. "Now, get your ass inside before your dad tries to shoot us both. I can't go to work with holes in me, that's for damned sure."

Ethan was about to close the door to the car when something poked him in the leg. The teen reached into the deep recesses of his pocket and pulled out an envelope. He reached back into the car, popped the glove box and tossed the flat white legal envelope back in. At McCoy's questioning eyebrow, he said, "That's a little something for you in there. After you guys left, I pulled the guilt trip on Dad. He caved and gave me a third of Serdeski's pool. I figured it's only fair you get half the cut, since I wouldn't have made money tonight if it wasn't for you."

McCoy thought back to the picture that started the whole mess and smiled fondly. It was amazing how much could change in a dozen years. There was no way McCoy could have ever imagined that he'd be sitting in Pike's driveway at midnight, dropping his former partner's son off after a long but impromptu chat (and one that he truly enjoyed). His relationship with Ethan was natural and friendly, and such a far cry from how unsure he was around the boy in the early years. Len realized long ago that he was lucky to have found an adoptive family, and he was thankful that he was afforded the opportunity from complete strangers when they clearly didn't have to.

Still, it didn't mean he couldn't give them a little hell from time to time. McCoy smirked and accepted the knuckle bump from Ethan's outstretched hand. Echoing a compliment he uttered twelve years earlier, the sergeant said with a proud nod, "Pretty good, kid."

Ethan grinned from ear to ear with the mega-smile he used when he needed to get out of trouble. "I learned from the best."

"You did. And don't you ever forget that."

**-FIN-**


End file.
